


Things Kept In Confidence

by EmmyJay



Series: Ivory Ascending [1]
Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2020-12-17 04:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21048539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyJay/pseuds/EmmyJay
Summary: When Seladon's negotiations fail, she isn't taken to be drained.REVISED 6 JUNE 2020.





	1. Revision (Posted 6 June 2020)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fandom it's me here to ruin your whole day. ᕕ-ᐛ-ᕗ
> 
> I'm going to say outright that I was finally pushed to write this by [Suffer Bravely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamu/pseuds/Suffer%20Bravely) and their fic [Silk on Silk on Silk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036080/chapters/50035253) (which you should definitely go read, it's way better than this schlock).
> 
> Finally, yes, this will have a follow-up. No, it will not be nice.
> 
> **Edit (6 June 2020):** As this story has now progressed _well_ beyond simply having "a follow-up", this installment has been heavily edited. The original version has been uploaded as a second chapter.

"Ungrateful Emperor! Never appreciates all skekSil does to preserve order! Would rather follow thick-headed General, see all fall to chaos and ruin! Such foolishness; such folly! Such a mindless, preening lot!"

The Chamberlain's voice was grating as ever, like nails on a slate, but Seladon barely noticed any more. The thought would have made her laugh, once; she had always known that as All-Maudra she would be expected to consort with all of the Lords of the Crystal, as ever they had need of her. Yet she had always imagined (a terrible, treasonous thought) that she would only ever cringe when this particular Lord opened his beak, his voice a sound to be tolerated through clenched teeth and a forced smile.

She had never imagined she might grow to hate that sound all the more, even as it familiarised into little more than background noise.

Today, he was agitated. Seladon sat on the bed, in the small room she had been discarded in an unum ago. Or, more accurately, the Chamberlain sat on the bed, his large body barely fitting on the space made for much-smaller Gelfling; Seladon sat in his lap, his legs on either side of her thighs, her back molded against the exaggerated curve of his belly. He seemed to enjoy holding her like this, stroking her hair and crooning to her about his life in the Castle, the way one might indulge a favoured pet.

_'That's what I am, now,'_ she thought numbly. _'A pet, sitting quietly for my Masters.'_

It had been the Chamberlain (**skekSil**, that was his name, what he told her to call him when he had her alone like this) who had come to her that first night (or had it still been day?) following her humiliation at the hands of the Skeksis court, bringing ointments to soothe the clawing on her arms and cheek, whimpering meaningless placations about the brutality of his brethren. Seladon had been loath to let any Skeksis touch her so soon after the assault, but had sat obidiently nonetheless while he tended to her, his outermost cloak heavy on her shoulders where he had draped it to cover her shame. And when he was done, he had presented her with a gown to replace the tattered remnants of her royal garb: plain, simple, likely meant for sleeping, with no mention of where he had obtained such a thing.

Since then he sought her out almost daily, seemingly for nothing more than companionship—arriving with her morning meal, and staying until the Podling servants returned with her evening one. If he had other duties he was ignoring in favour of spending time with her, he said nothing of them.

Today was much the same, though he held her more tightly than usual—the first sign of his displeasure. The second, of course, was the stream of words which never seemed to cease tumbling from his maw.

"Is so _difficult_, Beloved Seladon," he continued, his head pitching back dramatically, "being only voice of reason in Castle—only one who sees way forward. Others too consumed by petty wants and pretty potions. And General!" One hand released her, briefly, to gesture through the air. "General seeks nothing but war! And Emperor too blinded to stop him! Situation grave, terrible—**disastrous**! Needs intervention, yes?"

Seladon kept her gaze forward, but made a soft noise of neutral acknowledgement. The Chamberlain sighed heavily, and folded his body forward until his chin could rest atop her head.

"Think, perhaps," he mused aloud, "is time General was dealt with."

_Dealt with_—such an ambiguous term, yet in courtly matters it was rarely a mark of good intentions. The full potential of what she might be hearing struck Seladon, and she went stiff in the Chamberlain's grasp, wings twitching where they were pressed against the front of his robes.

Of course he noticed.

"Oh, no no no—will not _harm_ General, **never**!" He pulled back, stroking her arms in what might have, in a world as it should have been, been a soothing gesture. "Skeksis do not _harm_ one another! Punish, yes, when fail ourselves. But never something so vulgar, no!"

The Chamberlain's arms encircled her once again, one hand toying with the ends of her hair, and Seladon settled easily she settled against him, hating (_treason_) how accustomed she had become to his presence and petting. He was the closest to pleasant companionship she had in this place, his fussing nearest to a gentle touch she had felt in an unum. With him she could almost pretend that she had an ally in this new world her sister had broken.

_'For shame,'_ her loyalty scolded. _'A Lord has given his time to attend to me. It is an honour, and I should be thankful for it.'_

"Oh, before I forget." The Chamberlain leaned down to her level, and Seladon turned her face to look at him, finding herself fixated on the sound of his beak around the words: _clack, clack, clack_. "Emperor requests to see you later—_very_ insistent." His eyes flashed, lit with a joke she was not privy to. "Such an honour it is, to be granted private audience with most esteemed of Skeksis! Seladon must be most pleased, yes?"

Dread pooled in the pit of Seladon's stomach, opening like a yawning chasm inside her. She was dimly aware that a response was expected, to be carefully picked apart word by word. She thought, briefly, to ask what the Emperor wanted her for; why now, after an unum of ignoring her, did he decide to remember her presence in his castle?

"The Emperor honours me with his request," she spoke at last, her voice empty and mechanical—like one of the Scientist's machines she had never seen, but heard constantly operating in the depths of the castle, their distant clamour never quite enough to drown out the echo of screams. "I am ever loyal to my Lords, and glad to serve whatever purpose asked of me."

The Chamberlain _hmm_ed, resuming his petting, and it struck Seladon anew how very **wrong** everything was. Her words should have been sincere, not lies on her tongue; the thought of an audience with the Emperor a cause for fear, yes, but not the all-consuming dread she felt now. To feel this way—it was as much a betrayal to herself as it was to the revered Lords, to the very order of Thra itself.

_'Perhaps this is to be my last night alive.'_

Or else by morning, she might wish it had been.


	2. Original (Posted 1 Nov 2019)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the original version of this fic, when it was first posted. It was initially intended to be a two-shot (this and the following 'Glass'), and as such was written in a very self-contained way. As the story grew, so did the need to revise its first installment to reflect it's newfound "Chapter One" status, resulting in the current version seen in the previous chapter.

"Ungrateful Emperor! Never appreciates all skekSil does to preserve order! Would rather follow thick-headed General—see all fall to chaos and ruin! Such foolishness! Such folly! Such a mindless, preening lot!"

The Chamberlain's voice was grating as ever, like nails on a slate, but Seladon barely noticed any more. The thought would have made her laugh, once—she had always known that an All-Maudra would be expected to consort with all of the Lords of the Crystal, as ever they had need of her, but she had always imagined herself cringing internally every time this particular Lord opened his mouth: a sound to be tolerated through clenched jaw and forced smile, not accepted with placid disinterest as it wove in one ear and out the other.

(Oh, how wrong the world had turned.)

The Chamberlain—skekSil, that was his name, what he told her to call him like when they were like this, when he had her alone—had come to her shortly after her humiliation at the hands of the others, finding her in the room they had discarded her in. She had been loath to let any Skeksis touch her so soon after the assault, but sat quietly nonetheless while he soothed the scratches on her cheek and arms with balms and ointments, whimpering meaningless placations about the brutality of his brethren. He had draped her in his outermost robe to cover her shame.

Since then, he sought her out almost daily, seemingly for nothing more than simple companionship. He especially liked to gather her on his lap in the evenings, stroking her hair and crooning to her about his day, the way one might indulge a favoured pet. _'That's what I am, now—a pet sitting obediently for my Masters.'_ His talons caught every so often on a snarl, sending pain shooting through Seladon's scalp as he tugged it free; if it was a particularly thick one she would flinch, or even cry out, and he would cluck his tongue and stroke her cheek, looking down at her with a fondness that was not sincere.

She still preferred it to how the Emperor had stared that day in the throne room with a hunger she could not pinpoint, whether it was to swallow her whole or else to—

"Beloved Seladon?" The Chamberlain's voice drifted up to her, pulling her thoughts down to Thra once more. "Is friend still listening?"

"Friend," he said, "beloved," but Seladon held no illusions as to the nature of their relationship: the Chamberlain was no true friend, any more than she was a true All-Maudra.

"Of course, My Lord," she lied. "Please—continue."

There was a pause, without even the Chamberlain's tell-tale whimper to break the silence, and for a moment Seladon wondered if he would call her bluff. But then he sighed, heavy and exaggerated, and his arms snaked around her as he pitched his head back dramatically.

"Is difficult," he moaned, "being voice of reason. Only one who sees way forward—others too consumed by petty wants and pretty potions. And General!" One hand released her, briefly, to gesture widely in the air. "General seeks nothing but war! And Emperor, too foolish to stop him! Situation grave, terrible—disastrous! Needs intervention, yes?"

Another sigh, and now the Chamberlain bent forward, pulling Seladon up and closer so that his chin rested atop her head.

"Think, perhaps...is time General was dealt with."

"Dealt with"—such an ambiguous term, yet in courtly matters it was rarely a mark of good intentions. The full potential of what she might be hearing struck Seladon—new doors opening, possibilities for the future; opportunities, be they for gain or else for loss—and she went stiff in the Chamberlain's grasp, wings twitching where they were pressed against the front of his robes.

Of course he noticed.

"Oh, no no no—will not **harm** General, _never_!" He pulled back, stroking her arms in what might have, in another world, been a soothing gesture. "Skeksis do not harm one another—punish, yes, when fail ourselves. But never something so vulgar, no!"

The mention of punishments piqued Seladon's interest, but she knew better than to ask outright; she did not want to seem too eager for information, though the Chamberlain always seemed willing to share whatever she asked after. She imagined he found it endearing, in much the way one watched a crawlie try to escape a fizzgig.

_'Or else he knows there is nothing I could do with anything he deigns to tell me.'_ Even if she did find another Skeksis willing to listen to her, it would ultimately be the Chamberlain's word against hers; no doubt he would spin the tale into some scheme on her part, lying to find favour amongst his fellows. And more still, loathe though she was to admit it, Seladon had no desire to risk losing the other's company, though this was not out of any feelings of fondness. He was merely the closest to pleasant companionship she had in this place, his fussing nearest to a gentle touch she had felt in an unum.

It was all a trap, of course, to be sprung on her someday with gaping jaws; she fell into it gladly all the same.

"Oh, before I forget," the Chamberlain leaned down, then, to her level, and Seladon turned her face to look at him. "Emperor requests to see you later—_very_ insistent." His eyes flashed, lit with a joke she was not privy to. "Such an honour it is, to be granted private audience with most esteemed of Skeksis! Seladon must be most pleased, yes?"

Dread pooled in the pit of Seladon's stomach, opening like a yawning chasm inside her, all thoughts of information gathering fleeing from her head. She was dimly aware that the Chamberlain was still staring, smiling (as much as he ever could), expression eager; knew a response was expected of her, that it would be carefully picked apart word by word. She thought, briefly, to ask what the Emperor wanted her for—why now, after an unum of ignoring her, did he decide to remember her presence in his castle?

_'Perhaps this is to be my last night alive.'_ Or else by morning she might wish it had been.

"The Emperor honours me with his request," she spoke at last, her voice empty and mechanical—like one of the Scientist's machines she had never seen, but heard constantly operating in the depths of the castle, their clamour never quite enough to drown out the screams. "I am ever loyal to My Lords, and glad to serve whatever purpose asked of me."

The Chamberlain _hmm_ed, resuming his petting, and it struck Seladon anew how very **wrong** everything was. Her words should have been sincere, not lies on her tongue; the thought of an audience with the Emperor a cause for fear, yes, but not the all-consuming dread she felt now. To feel this way—it was as much a betrayal to herself as it was to the revered Lords, to the very order of Thra itself.

"No need to tell Emperor of our, ah, confidence, hmm?" The Chamberlain nosed at her ear as he spoke, and she found herself fixated on the sound of his beak around the words: _clack, clack, clack_. "Is secret between friends, yes?"

Seladon stared ahead, wondering if the world would ever make sense again.

"Of course, My Lord—a secret between friends."


End file.
